


Darker Sides

by lanri



Series: Unseen [34]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blindness, Episode: s02e14 Born Under a Bad Sign, Gen, Possession, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to Born Under a Bad Sign. Evil doesn’t always play by the rules. Unseen ‘verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darker Sides

Dean crept into the room, easing the squeaky motel door closed with a wince. Surprisingly, though, the enormous lump on the second bed didn’t stir. Dean stifled the urge to giggle—man, he must’ve had a little too much to drink—and stepped over the salt line. And paused.

He must’ve dragged his heels through it without realizing. Definitely too much to drink. He repaired it clumsily before sprawling in his bed. He would have to get Sam a nice breakfast tomorrow morning for letting him go out. Not that Sam ever stopped him, but Sam had actually encouraged him for once. It was a little weird that he wasn’t waiting up as usual, but Dean wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Kid needed more sleep, with how much he’d been worrying about his destiny and going evil.

The thought made Dean’s heart clench a little, but he forced himself to relax. Sleep now, worry about Sam’s destiny later.

Without further ado, Dean fell asleep.

* * *

A loud thump made Dean groan.

“Dude. Hangover. No loud noises, please.”

Sam didn’t respond. Dean sighed. Probably not happy about Dean staying out so late. Time to make it up to him.

He cracked his eyes open and groaned again. “Ugggh. Alcohol is evil.”

“That’s what you get, idiot.”

Dean blinked. “Dude. Why are you on the floor?”

Sam pushed himself onto his elbows. “Sit-ups,” he said.

“I thought you hated getting your pajamas all sweaty.”

Sam shifted. “These need to be washed anyway.”

“Okay, whatever.” Dean stretched. “How ‘bout I go pick us up some breakfast while you find us a new hunt?”

“Find a hunt?”

Sam seemed a little off, and Dean felt a pang of guilt for leaving him alone all night, probably to stew in his brooding thoughts about going darkside or whatever.

“Hey.” He crouched next to Sam. “You wanna take some time off? It’s a nice little town, we could go catch a movie today.”

Sam pushed to his feet, shaking his head. “Nah, I . . . I don’t think so.”

Dean frowned, standing as well and grasping Sam’s elbow. He flinched, and Dean’s frown deepened.

“What’s going on here, Sammy?”

“Nothing,” Sam said.

“Uh huh.” Dean stepped away, and Sam reached out as if for balance. “Mind telling me why you’re moving like a newborn colt?”

“I think I might be coming down with something.”

Dean crowded in on Sam’s space, palming his forehead and kneading a tense shoulder. “Easy. Okay, you should be in bed, then, not doing sit-ups, you idiot. C’mon.”

Sam hadn’t stumbled so much since he was thirteen. Dean tried to suppress his smile, but it was pretty entertaining, in some ways. His dork of a brother could never go evil.

“Sleep, Sammy. I’ll be right back. Does your throat hurt? I can get oatmeal if you aren’t up for solids.”

“Oatmeal would be good,” Sam said.

Dean clapped his hands together and Sam flinched again.

“I’ll be back,” he told Sam. Sam nodded towards the wrong direction, and Dean’s worry ratcheted up a notch.

He made the breakfast run as fast as possible.

Only to find the room empty when he returned.

* * *

“I’d ask you what you’re doing, but somehow I don’t think I’ll get a straight answer.”

Dean hid a sneer as Sam jumped, turning. The gas station was relatively abandoned at this time of night.

“Dean. You . . .”

“Yeah, so what, you thought hitchhiking would get you away from me? What, food wasn’t good enough? Bed too hard?”

Sam shifted. “Dean, it’s . . . I don’t know what I’m doing. I think . . . I think I hurt some people.”

Dean stalked forward. “Yeah, that’s how I found you. You beat up the truck driver who picked you up, and I got to hear about it on the police’s channel. So ‘fess up. Did he kidnap you?”

Sam threw up his hands as if he was frustrated. “Dean, I don’t remember any of that! I could’ve killed the guy and I wouldn’t have known.”

Slinging an arm around his melodramatic little brother, Dean guided them both to sit on the edge of the bed. “Sam, stop worrying. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

“What if—“ Sam stopped, and Dean’s heart rate picked up a notch. Whenever Sam refused to speak, bad things happened.

“Sammy, what?” he prompted.

Sightless eyes looked past Dean. “What if it’s my destiny? To lose control over myself, hurt people?”

Something was bugging Dean about this, but the utter despair on his little brother’s face made him push it to the side.

“Hey. This is probably a spell or something, not whatever stupid destiny crap you’re talking about. You were feeling sick, right?”

Sam nodded, head dipping down.

“C’mon, let’s get back to the motel. We’ll figure this out, Sammy.”

Sam stumbled as they started forward, and Dean paused.

“Dude, seriously. You haven’t been this clumsy since you were thirteen. What’s wrong?”

The awkward pose suddenly slid away from Sam’s shoulder, and he stood.

“Screw this,” he growled.

Dean was shoved backwards, thrown to the ground and Sam following him down, hand around his throat. Pure black eyes glared down at him.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” Sam mused above him.

“Get out of him,” Dean snarled.

An unfamiliarly cruel smile plastered itself on Sam’s face. “I kinda hoped to make you believe he was going evil. I mean, it’ll happen anyway, but the idea that you would have to shoot Sam yourself would have been particularly sweet.” The demon controlling Sam’s body shrugged. “Guess not.”

Dean struggled against Sam’s grip—his little brother was wiry, but there was demonic strength on his side. “What do you want?” he rasped.

“Revenge.” The demon tilted Sam’s head. “You sent me to Hell, ruined a lot of things for me. This is payback.”

Dean stilled. “Meg?”

“That was the girl’s name, yes.” Sam stood, lifting Dean as he went. “So the real question is, do I kill you now, or—

“Christo,” Dean spat.

He was dropped with a curse as the demon reeled back. He began reciting the names of God as the demon squirmed before smoothly switching to a simple exorcism.

The demon laughed.

“Please. You tried that last time. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out how to get past that?”

Dean whirled, darting towards his car. The demon went after him. The holy water was always easily accessible, and Dean tossed it in the demon’s general direction while he hunted for the rope.

The hissing and writhing nearly made Dean pause—what if he was hurting Sam? but he didn’t have the time, and shoved down on top of the demon, saying the name of God in quick repetition. A blindfold over the demon’s eyes, a rope soaked with holy water lashed over its arms and legs.

“Quit your whining,” he growled. “That’s what you get for stealing my brother.”

Sam was a thin build, light enough that Dean could pick him up. It killed him to do it, but he shoved Sam into the trunk, drawing a large devil’s trap on the surface with a grease pencil.

Throwing himself into the driver’s seat, Dean revved the engine and peeled out of the gas station. They weren’t far from Bobby’s. He would know what to do.

* * *

“You boys sure know how to get yourselves into trouble.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean muttered. “Can we get it out of him?”

Bobby scratched his head. “The trick is figuring out how it’s trapped inside. Nothing I’ve heard of can do that without some kind of outside influence.”

Dean frowned. “Like a spell?”

Sam sneered at him. “Face it. You can’t save your brother. You’ll just have to kill him. That’s one sure-fire way to kill a demon, you know. Slice off its head. Nothing can survive without its head.”

Bobby made a face. “Well, that’s not true, there’s a snake in—“

“Bobby, not right now,” Dean snapped. He kept himself from crossing the line, glaring at the demon. “Alright. What’s it gonna be?” He tossed some holy water. Sam’s yell was eerily similar to his usual cry of pain, and Dean hid a flinch. “Keep burning, or get out of my brother?”

Sam’s teeth were bared. “Why don’t you go—“

“Dean!” Bobby grabbed his arm. “What is that?”

Dean turned. “What?”

Bobby pointed. “On his arm.”

Dean squinted, edging as close as he dared. “Looks like a burn.”

“That might be—“

“Enough,” Sam snarled. He tossed his head back, tendons in his neck standing out as he chanted something in another language. The trap split with a resounding crack, and Sam was out of his bindings, slamming Bobby backwards against the wall and turning to grab Dean and toss him to the floor. “Darling big brother. You just haven’t figured it out, yet. You’re brother’s worthless, trash, and more demon than human.”

A fist slammed into Dean’s face. He grunted, fiery pain flashing as the blow came again, and again.

An awful smell of burning flesh filled the air. Dean waited for the pain to hit, but when he squinted up through swollen eyes, he found Sam writhing above him, Bobby holding a metal poker to his arm. Black smoke left his mouth in a wave, resting above Dean for a moment before escaping.

Sam went limp, falling on top of Dean.

“Oof. Sam.” Dean flailed, tipping Sam over.

“Dean?”

Sam’s eyes were a satisfying white.

“What happened?”

Dean let his head thunk back against the hardwood floor. “Bro, you don’t even want to know.”

* * *

Dean cast a dubious look at their surroundings. “You sure about this?”

“I’m not going through that again.”

Dean sighed, pressing his hand into Sam’s shoulder. “Bobby said the pendants would work to keep demons out,” he said, voice almost subvocal to avoid being overheard. “isn’t this a little excessive?”

“Pendants can fall off,” Sam said darkly. “This way we’re being sure.”

Dean watched his little brother, feeling something painful in his gut from how tired and world-weary he looked. “You never told me how Meg got into you in the first place,” he murmured. “It takes, fear, and—“

“Next!”

Sam shot up, striding forward with a confidence in his ability to get around that Meg hadn’t shown. “Dean, come on.”

Dean sighed again, following Sam. He gave the tattoo artist the design, with strict instructions to use clean needles. Sam went back against the chair first.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah, Dean?”

Dean didn’t know what he was going to say. He settled for putting a hand on top of Sam’s unruly hair and messing it up even more. “Never mind.”

Sam jumped at the man’s touch.

“You move and I’ll mess up,” the man grunted.

“Sorry.” Sam’s hand crept in Dean’s direction.

He sighed. “Pansy,” he accused.

“Whatever.”

Dean had hoped the tattoos would give Sam some security. Something to remove the tense set of his shoulders.

But as they walked out of the tattoo parlor, Sam was tighter than ever, lines of strain on his forehead. “Come on, Dean. We’ve got a hunt to do.”

“Yeah, Sammy. I’m right here,” he said quietly.


End file.
